Child of Clearpine
by Xaydin
Summary: Acantha is quiet and a little shy, but possessed with a furious temper and an odd origin. When she's completed what she truly was destined for, and the civil war has fallen to the Imperials, she has nothing left to do but learn more about the world she lives in, though accompanied by a healing Stormcloak veteran... F!Dragonborn/Ralof; M for language, sexual content, and violence
1. Chapter 1

The winter wind rattled the windows of Candlehearth Hall, shrieking as it scraped the stony walls outside. Its inhabitants buried themselves in their pints, grateful to have some slight respite against the bitter gusts that sent shivers through Windhelm.

Ralof sat by the bar, contemplating the amber liquid in his untouched cup. His blue-eyed reflection stared right back at him, long blonde hair unkempt and ragged. For a moment, he mused that he almost couldn't recognize himself, after spending years as a proud Stormcloak soldier. Now all he had to show for it was a tempestuous shoulder wound that never quite healed, and a bruised pride where the Empire had crushed the rebellion.

He sighed and finally lifted the mug to his lips, taking a large swallow. Putting it back down, he grimaced, though the mead was sweeter than honey. _These are the days of peace_, he thought bitterly, _now that Alduin's gone and the Empire had brought the worshippers of Talos to their knees_.

Elda Early-Dawn, the innkeeper, looked up from washing the mugs and raised her eyebrows at Ralof.

"You still here, boy? I thought you were supposed to be leaving for Riverwood soon."

Ralof chuckled, but soon winced as a twinge traveled down his arm. "Direct as always, Elda." He gestured to the window with his good arm. "Weather's keeping me back; I can't leave 'til it lets up a bit."

Elda shrugged. "Knowing the weather here in Windhelm, you'll be here until spring waiting for the snow to pass."

He smiled at her, rubbing his stubbly jaw. "A true enough statement, dear Elda." Looking around the inn, he changed the subject. "How has the workload been since Susanna…"

"Was murdered?" Elda said bluntly, the wrinkles in her face suddenly seeming much deeper for a moment. She concentrated on the mug in her hands for a few seconds before looking up at her customer. "It's been difficult… She was almost my child, after her parents died of Bonebreak Fever all those years ago." The barkeep put the mug down and leaned to steady herself on the counter. "The workload itself hasn't been too bad. Susanna had a tendency to dream instead of work, and she was always a flirt.

"Still, not a day goes by where I don't miss the girl. I can only take solace in that the Butcher has been taken to justice. Slaughtered in the street like he did to his own victims." Her face turned grim. "It's the only good thing I can really say about the Dragonborn, after she refused to take sides in the war."

"I'm sure she had enough on her plate, dealing with the end of the world, to worry about Skyrim's problems alone," Ralof remarked. "I know that if I had to kill the World Eater, I'd never do anything but prepare myself for the battle, and nothing but."

Elda gave Ralof a small smile. "Well, when you put it that way…" She shook her head. "You know she's been offered the title of thane in every hold but has turned it down? I'm starting to believe she's simply insane."

"Or leads a quiet life." Ralof took another gulp of mead. "I wouldn't mind such a life, myself."

"Aye, but you haven't quite picked yourself up after the war; I imagine that's why you're headed to Riverwood, eh? Family there?"

"I grew up there, yes," he replied quietly, shamed that others could see his obvious shakiness. "My sister's family lives there, running the mill. I thought it would be a good start."

A bell rang off in the distance, and Elda frowned, looking up from the conversation. "That sounded like the dock bell – if a ship just docked in this weather, I'll be damned."

"Some sailors enjoy the danger," Ralof remarked before burying his face in his mug once more.

"Aye, and those same men are definitely drowning in Sheogorath's 'blessing'."

There was a stumbling from upstairs and a roar of contempt. The barkeep sighed, putting down her rag for a moment.

"Damn Stone-Fist and his drinking. Bet you anything he's thrown something at Luaffyn again. I ought to ban him from my inn," she muttered, starting to move from behind the stairs.

Ralof touched her on the shoulder. "I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you. Rolff is just an idiot, and Luaffyn can handle herself. Best not to make yourself miserable tonight. He'll calm down."

Hesitating, Elda looked at the stairs before looking back at Ralof. She gave him a quick nod and stepped behind the counter again.

"I suppose you're right. The man does nothing but take years off my life."

Ralof tapped his mug, and Elda uncorked a bottle to fill it once more. "Seems to me that he's only gotten more ornery after the Stormcloaks fell, and his brother was killed."

"Aye. And he's not very gentle with anyone these days, but his hatred of the Dark Elves has turned to clear loathing." She shook her head. "I can't say that they are my favorites, either, but it's horrible, the way he stalks the Grey Quarter at night, shouting at the people there."

Ralof placed a few gold Septims on the counter. "Before the drink makes me forget, since I am staying another night…and maybe a few after that."

"Thank you kindly, sir, but tonight's on me." Elda slid the money back to him. "The conversation was enough pay."

"Elda, really, you don't need to…"

"You're welcome," she said firmly, giving him a hard-eyed stare. His rough face broke out in a smile.

"You're not really as tough as you try to make yourself appear," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Elda, nothing at all."

Ralof lifted the now full mug and enjoyed the buzzing heat as it washed down his gullet. He almost choked, however, when the door banged open and the wind screamed as it made the candles inside gutter wildly.

"Shor's bones, close the door, skeever brain!" Elda barked in irritation.

The stranger, cloaked in heavy wool and carrying a heavy-looking knapsack, looked up at the barkeep. Slowly, a hand reached up to pull back the hood of the cloak, revealing a Nordic and slender female face.

Ralof's mouth dropped open as he stared at the newcomer. Her green eyes focused on him and her eyebrows furrowed, her unpainted and chapped lips opening just slightly. She drew herself away, moving the wild, almost white blonde hair over her forehead with a gentle hand.

"You!" he blurted out, finally.

"Yes?" she acknowledged, her voice confused and quiet. Her voice carried a trace of a whispery, almost hissing accent.

She glided over to the counter and placed a small sack of coins on the counter. "I wish to rent a room for the next three days," she informed Elda in the same quiet tone. "Can you show me where I will be residing?"

"Of course, stranger," Elda replied, sliding her gaze over to Ralof momentarily, "if you can tell me your name."

"Acantha."

"Like the Dragonborn?"

The stranger closed her clear green eyes for a second before opening them to study the barkeep. "Yes, like the Dragonborn," she agreed, her voice carrying a hint of sarcasm. Ralof smiled into his mug.

"Right this way, then." Elda escorted her towards her room, and Ralof watched them leave, his eyes catching the glint of the candlelight's reflection from the glass beads hidden in Acantha's hair. They clicked and swayed with her smooth, gliding walk.

They stopped in front of a room and the Nord girl quickly stepped inside, the door shutting with a murmured phrase of gratefulness.

Elda quickly hurried back to Ralof, her eyes suddenly bright. "You know that girl?" she hissed. Ralof grinned.

"Aye."

"How?" she pressed incredulously. The Stormcloak veteran leaned forward, the smile not yet wiped from his face.

"I was at Helgen when Alduin attacked, as was she."

Elda sucked in air and made a sign to ward off evil. "You never told me that, you rogue! Wasn't the Dragonborn there as well?"

The blonde Nord sighed. "That _is_ the Dragonborn!"

Elda blinked and leaned back. "Oh my…" she murmured, touching a lined cheek. "She must think I'm an old fool," the barkeep chuckled.

The door down the hall opened, and Ralof looked over from his conversation.

The young woman had shed her cloak and now wore thick wool breeches with a white shirt that hung loosely over her willowy form. Ralof could see now that she had more than just beads in her hair; a twig that somehow seemed to look alive was caught by the pale hair, and hid as well a small white butterfly that clung to her neck, wings opening and closing slowly.

Acantha looked up at the two at the bar, her hands clutching a leather-bound book. Approaching the bar, she fished around in her pocket for a few Septims.

"If I may have a pint of mead, please," she asked quietly, sliding into a stool a couple seats down from Ralof. Elda fulfilled her request silently, placing the mug in front of the girl with a _thunk_.

She looked up at Ralof. "Forgive me," she began, hesitating a bit, "I know you recognize me, and you seem familiar, but I don't remember from where. Can you tell me where we met?"

"At Helgen. We shared the cart as they took us there."

A shadow passed over her eyes. "Ah." She placed her book on the countertop, stroking it with her fingertips. "Yes, that was difficult, and you were so…nice, to me."

There was a sudden crow of anger and a stumbling noise. The group at the counter turned to look at the source, and Rolff continued to stumble down the stairs, only pausing to stare at Acantha.

"Do I know you, wench?" he asked thickly.

"No," the girl replied, her face void of emotion.

He leaned forward. "You have something in your hair. Why in the name of Talos do you have a twig in your hair?"

"Maybe because it's supposed to _fucking be there_." Her quiet voice was dangerously edged with a tone of anger. Ralof leaned back to assess the situation.

Rolff sneered. "You look like a damn Spriggan."

"Is there something wrong with Spriggans?" Now her eyes flashed, sharp enough to cut through metal.

"Are we talking about the same thing here? Or do you actually support the way they kill innocents just to protect a damn piece of land?" Rolff's voice slurred with every other word.

"Sometimes it's not a 'damn piece of land', it's an important spiritual place with a tie to Nirn – I don't expect someone with your ignorance to understand that."

He blinked, his eyes bleary and unfocused before his eyebrows drew together. "What the hell did you just say to me, bitch? Did you just call me stupid?"

Her eyes quieted a little, and she turned back to the counter. "Perhaps you're not as dumb as I believe, then, if you could garner that bit of information," she remarked over her shoulder, lifting her mug to take a draught of mead.

Rolff's face was contorted into an angry scowl. He lifted his hand. "Take out that damn twig, Spriggan whore!"

As he reached for the branch, she banged the mug down and gripped his wrist, snapping it with a quick motion of her hands. A tiny white butterfly fluttered away from its spot on her neck. Rolff let out a little shriek and fell dumb, gripping his arm as his mouth continued to hang open in a silent scream. He glared at her when his lips finally closed.

"Cunt!"

"By the Divines, you never do know when to stop, do you?" she muttered, reaching up to grab him by his cap and slamming his head against the counter. He was out, then, curled up on the floor with a bit of blood dribbling out of a cut on his forehead.

Elda looked down at Rolff then back up at Acantha, who was assisting the small butterfly back onto its perch.

"Poor dear," she murmured before saying something in a breathy, swishy language, very quietly. The butterfly stopped trembling its wings then.

Ralof nudged the unconscious man with his foot before looking up at the pale Nord. "You are not the frightened girl I met in Helgen."

"Life hasn't allowed me to be simply frightened since then," she remarked, hopping off her stool. With a small sigh, she scooped up her book. "I had hoped that this would be a quiet evening, but I'm starting to think that was an impossible wish."

She turned to go, but suddenly swung back around. "Sir, what did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't – it's Ralof," the veteran Stormcloak replied.

"Ralof," she repeated, tasting the syllables – her accent made his name sound like a song. She hesitated suddenly. "Will you be here tomorrow, Ralof?" she asked shyly, holding the book in front of her like a shield.

All Ralof could do was nod, and she smiled, the expression touching her eyes. "Thank you for the company," she said, and was quickly gone, the door shut behind her disappearing form.

Elda let out a low whistle and refilled Ralof's mug. "Dragonborn or not, that girl has got a hidden fire in her. And a temper to match a dragon."

"Mm." Ralof found himself thinking of her eyes and quickly diverted his thoughts, specifically to the pain in his shoulder that was flaring for the hundredth time that day.

Elda leaned over the counter to look at the still form of Rolff. "Can someone get this dumbass bastard into a bed?" she shouted, shaking her head as she picked up her polishing rag and another mug.


	2. Chapter 2

Ralof stared up at the ceiling, the bed suddenly uncomfortable. Strange, he had fallen asleep almost instantly every night before… Now, however, every time he closed his eyes, an image of the Dragonborn drifted before them.

He sighed and rolled over onto his stomach, listening to the coy giggles and gasps of a woman a few doors down. How long had it been since he had been with a woman? _Almost a year and a half_, he realized. Not since Fort Greenwall, before the war's end. Steom, a fellow soldier, had always brought in a few whores, or at least willing women, into the forts to share company with. He'd always been a ladies man…until the day an Imperial sword cleaved off a good chunk of his head with a single stroke. Ralof would never forget the smell, or the feeling of brain matter splattering his uniform.

The Imperial had not lived long after that.

He shook his head, dislodging the memories that tried to pour into his consciousness, and focused, once again, on the Dragonborn. Acantha had not seemed so…able, when he met her the first time.

A rush of cold air ran across his back, and he shivered, his skin rising in small chill bumps as he pulled the blanket further over his body. Of course, the first time he met Acantha, he probably didn't seem all that able, either.

They had been fighting Imperials close to the border of Cyrodiil that day. Steom had just smashed his warhammer into the chest cavity of an Imperial soldier, the ribs crushed with a crunching sound, when a small, feminine shriek made everyone pause.

Ralof had looked up at the Nord girl on the white stallion, her face contorted in confusion and fear. Her long, pale blonde hair was plaited with a vine of flowers woven throughout, and she wore a blue silk dress that covered her from her ankles to her collarbone, and to her wrists. She couldn't have been older than eighteen, and her fine clothing, as modest as it was, betrayed her high status. A book lay in the dust beside the horse, having been dropped upon the sight of the battle.

All at once, Ralof felt the sword knocked from his hands, and a small knife pricked his throat. He saw his fellow Stormcloaks in the same position, and an Imperial was hurdling over to the girl, grabbing the reins of the stallion. She quickly scrambled off of it, her mouth hanging open as she tried to escape, but stumbled on the hem of her dress and tripped.

"Where is your pass to cross into Skyrim?" the Imperial captain bellowed, thrusting her sword at her.

"I – I have it, let me just look," she replied, her voice swishing with an odd accent. She stood shakily and walked over to her horse, searching through the saddlebags. After a few moments of searching, her movements became more frenzied.

"I know it's here, somewhere, you just have to give me a few moments," she muttered, her green eyes wide with distress. The soldier lost patience and grabbed her wrist tightly. She cried out, struggling to free herself.

"Liar!" The captain looked up at her soldiers. "We'll take her with the others. Probably stole that dress and the horse from some innocent in Cyrodiil."

"No, I didn't!" Her voice became more high pitched. "You have to believe me! My name is Acantha, Acantha – "

"Do I look like I give a damn, prisoner?" the captain growled, and started to pull the girl with her.

The girl cried out something unintelligible, in a language Ralof had never heard before. The trees suddenly rustled, though there was no wind, and the Imperial soldiers looked around before loading the prisoners into the carts.

The girl was still struggling with the fierce captain, though, and eventually, the older woman slugged her across the crown of the girl's head. She dropped; her skin swelled where she'd been hit.

An angry fire filled Ralof's stomach, but he forced it away as the girl was loaded into their cart, her hands tied. He could see, now, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her mouth drooped ever so slightly… This was a girl who was in a time of trouble, as wealthy as she may be.

They travelled for a good two hours or so, their ride jostling and bumpy. Ralof took the time to pray to the Divines that it would only be prison, and not the chopping block for them. However, what with Ulfric being there… It was doubtful that any of them would survive.

He observed the girl in the cart, still unconscious. It was a tragedy to murder someone with a face like that – she would have been the village beauty, back where he was from. _Of course_, he thought grimly, _it's not likely that I'll ever see my home again_. He shook his head. _Poor Gerdur_.

The girl suddenly stirred, a small moan escaping her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, focused and unfocused, and she closed them again, slowly lifting herself into a sitting position. Finally, her eyes did open, and focused on the blond Nord in front of her.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake," Ralof stated, as comfortingly as possible. She dropped her eyes shyly. "You were trying to cross the border, right?"

She moved her head slightly in a shallow nod.

"Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and the thief over there."

"Damn you Stormcloaks!" a voice hissed. The girl winced, and her gaze slid over to the horse thief that had surrendered immediately when he had stumbled upon the fight. "Empire was nice and lazy – if they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!"

He focused on the girl and leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. "You there, you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these _Stormcloaks_," he spat the word, "the Empire wants."

The girl recoiled from him, disgust written plain on her face. _Good choice_, Ralof thought to himself.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, _thief_," he remarked.

The horse thief's eyes narrowed to slits and he opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a reprimand from the guard.

They sat there silently for a few moments before the loudmouth thief saw Ulfric sitting in the back of the cart. "What's his problem?" the thief asked, motioning to the gag around the Jarl's mouth.

That was just about the last straw for Ralof. "Watch your tongue!" he growled. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

Ralof's attention was suddenly caught by the way the girl's head shot up, her green eyed gaze honing in on the jarl as the thief continued to babble.

"Did he really kill Torygg?" she asked, her voice slow but sure.

Ralof looked at her. "Yes – why?"

She looked to the other side of the carriage. "Torygg was a friend of mine," she said softly. "I'm supposed to be attending his funeral."

Ralof looked at his bound hands. "It is always painful to lose a friend, no matter their political allegiance," he replied. He could feel her frightened gaze rest on him once again.

The rest of the ride was quiet, until they reached Helgen.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief asked as the wheels slowed to a halt.

"Why do you think?" Ralof replied wearily. "End of the line – Sovngarde awaits."

"No!" The thief looked as though any minute he was going to soil himself. "Wait, we're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief," the Stormcloak snarled, jabbing the thief with his elbow. He looked back at the girl, who was gazing at an orange butterfly that flitted above her head. She murmured something, lifting her hands, and the butterfly alighted on her fingertips, perching.

Everything after that was kind of a blur. The girl identified herself as Acantha Clearpine, and was sentenced to death for the petty crime of not having a visa. There was a dragon, and fire, and blood…

* * *

_There are always screams that never seem to stop, screams of men who have spears and arrows protruding from soft and tender parts of them, screams of men in the bloodlust, screams of men who watch their brothers and friends be slaughtered before their very eyes, screams of men who realized that war is futile, that death is the end, who realize that they don't want to die for an ideal…_

_He keeps fighting, hacking and slashing through the crowd, ignoring the pain of the arrow in his shoulder, ignoring how soggy his uniform is with the blood of other men, how sweat drips down his face and touches his lips in a salty tang. A similar scent fills the air, the scent of bodies that have been hacked open and left to rot, the scent of corpses that have defecated and pissed themselves upon death, the scent of sweat. Of terror._

_He turns his gaze away from the man trying to scoop his intestines back into his body, turns his gaze from the mortality of man. _Is _this_ how we earn the glory of gods?_ he wonders. _Is _this_ how we gain the rite of passage into Sovngarde? We walk through the very fires of Oblivion? Now, now we are godless… Now we are hopeless…

* * *

He woke up violently, his body drenched in sweat and the blanket tangled around his legs and arms. It took him a moment to realize that there was a continuous knocking on the door. Ralof took a deep breath in, his legs still shaking as he stumbled towards the door.

Outside, Acantha, dressed in a long grey nightgown, held a candle and a bottle of mead, clearly taken from Elda's stocks. A luna moth fluttered about her hair, now braided into one straight rope down her back.

"I could hear you from right next door. Bad dreams?"

He only nodded. She glanced down and back up, her cheeks slightly reddened.

"If you would wish to put some pants, or, er, smallclothes, even, I can give you time to do so…"

He knew it had felt a little breezy. Closing the door with rushed and hearty apologies, he slipped on a pair of woolen pants and an off-white shirt. Ralof hesitated before dipping his hands into the basin provided with the room, and splashed the water onto his face, shuddering at the iciness.

Acantha sat at one of the tables, the candle casting a warm yellow light across her face. He slid into the seat across from her, attempting a careless pose as she uncorked the bottle to pour two mugs worth of mead.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"A little before dawn." She pushed one of the two mugs towards him. He drank some of it gratefully.

"I find that alcohol tends to take the edge off of nightmares," she stated.

"And why would you have nightmares?"

She gave him an amused glance. "Why wouldn't I?" she countered in her soft voice, lifting the mug to take a deep gulp.

They sat in silence for a while, the Dragonborn refilling the cups when they went empty until the bottle was gone. The first rays of light were beginning to brighten the early morning.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Ralof said, breaking the silence.

"I don't mind at all."

He gestured to the back of his own neck. "What's with the butterfly?"

She smiled slightly, taking one hand to draw the tiny white creature out. It flapped its wings in response. "Ah, the poor dear got caught in the cold; I keep him with me until I reach the south, where he can survive on his own."

Ralof nodded as though that explained everything.

"So what are you doing here in Windhelm, Ralof?"

He traced the rim of his mug with a finger. "Once the war ended, I didn't know where to go. But I won't be staying here too much longer – I will return to Riverwood, where my sister lives."

Acantha's face suddenly brightened. "Do you know when you're leaving?" she asked.

"Er…" He blinked. "Not exactly. Why do you care, exactly? Not to be rude…"

"Oh, I live in Falkreath Hold – I just spent a month in Solstheim, taking care of a little…problem. It's unimportant," she added, looking a little embarrassed before continuing. "I find it's always easier travelling with someone rather than alone, and I believe you to be an upstanding sort of man, so… Would you mind? If we travelled together?"

Ralof looked at her, a little startled. "No – no, not at all. I'd be glad to have company. I'll allow you to decide when we leave."

"You wouldn't mind if it was tomorrow, would you? I'm anxious to be home," she admitted.

"Tomorrow should be fine."

"Excellent." She stood, smiling at the veteran. "Well, I should start my day, and get some supplies together – I image I will see you tonight, yes?"

"Ah, yes," he agreed, and watched as she glided away, unable to ignore her swaying walk through the nightgown until she disappeared into her room. He suddenly berated himself, and shook his head, focusing his thoughts on preparing for the journey. It didn't really work, though.

"Damn," he groaned, passing a hand over his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: This is a rewrite after it was brought to my attention (and confirmed, in my mind) that some of the dialogue was incredibly weak. Anyways, basically the same story with some tweaks. Enjoy!**

* * *

Acantha had been kind enough to purchase horses for the both of them, rather than making the trip on foot. The grey mare he rode snorted, the breath from her nostrils fogging in the freezing Skyrim air. Ralof took once last glance over his shoulder at the ages old walls of Windhelm before spurring the horse on.

Acantha waited further ahead of him, sitting atop a tall black horse laden with luggage. She wore a thick coat, lined with fox fur, which concealed several knives and even a mace. The only reason Ralof even knew this fact was because he had watched her painstakingly clean and sharpen every weapon before carefully stowing them in a vest comprised of sheathes. The way it was crafted, with leather strips that were lopsidedly sewn together, suggested a homemade quality.

He could see the snowflakes that had been caught in her thick lashes, melting into tiny droplets as she blinked slowly.

"Are we ready?" she asked.

"I believe so."

"Good." She murmured something in a swishing, whispery language and the horse trotted forward, Ralof snapping the reins to catch up.

She didn't say much that day; she only smiled and nodded each time he made an observation and only said a word or two when he attempted to start a conversation. He finally gave up, and watched the clouds roll ahead of them, forcing his mind to concentrate on what was around him, rather than letting it wander. That never seemed to end well for him, particularly after the war had ended.

That first night, they camped out in the snow. Ralof was surprised to see the way Acantha acted around the fire: careful, cautious, and suspicious, as though any minute it was going to jump out and bite her. Instead of warming herself beside it, she heaped on furs and ducked into her tent.

Ralof sat alone.

The next morning, he was awakened by the sound of her boots crunching the snow and the same, swishy language that she had spoken the day before. He waited a moment before opening his eyes, blinking in the darkness. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon, but there was a purple splotch where the land met the sky, heralding its arrival.

He scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it in his face, shivering at the sudden sensation. Pulling on a shirt, he rose from the tent to see Acantha talking to her horse, one hand stroking his muzzle and the other feeding it an apple.

She looked up at Ralof, her green eyes serene. "Good morning, Ralof," she greeted. "There's food in the saddlebags. If you wouldn't mind eating in the saddle, I'd be grateful."

"Why the hurry? We're not racing against anyone." He approached his own horse; her ears flicked as he touched her mane.

Acantha was quiet for a moment, one foot in the stirrup before she finally pulled herself up. "I only wish to be home as soon as possible," she remarked quietly.

Ralof paused and gave her a single nod, turning to break down his tent. "Alright."

The wind blew mightily cold that day, bringing with it the shrieking sounds of winter and gusts of snowflakes. Ralof had brought his scarf up over his nose and mouth, his hood protecting his ears. Acantha, a few meters in front of him, looked the same, bundled in her coat and thick red scarf. Ralof was quite amused at the sight of the poorly knit accessory.

He urged the horse forward to where Acantha was riding in front of him. She glanced over for a moment before switching her gaze away.

After a few moments, Ralof spoke up. "So what's at home that you're so eager to return to?"

She shrugged, not removing her gaze from the terrain in front of her.

"Are you homesick? Or do you have a husband?"

Acantha whipped her head around to look at Ralof, some unknown memory sparking deep in her eyes. She was silent; Ralof could almost see the thoughts churning in her head.

"I have no husband," she replied after a moment, returning to watch the terrain. "I only wish to return home for the same reason that you do, I would imagine."

He looked away, feeling somewhat awkward. "I apologize."

She only nodded, and spurred the horse on faster.

They made camp when the fading orange of sunset had dyed the snow in fiery hues. Acantha sat by her tent quietly, eating some dried fruit while Ralof continued to cook the river betty he had fished for earlier.

She raised her head, finally, her leaf green eyes flashing in the flickering firelight. "I apologize for not being a very talkative travelling partner, and for being short with you earlier. I've had a lot on my mind."

Ralof blinked, startled. "Er… Well, you don't have to apologize, really. It was rude of me to pry."

She waved her hand. "Forget about it. You can ask me anything, really."

"Alright." He removed the fish from the fire and began to pull the soft meat away from the bones. "How old are you now, anyways?"

She smiled. "Twenty three."

"So you were eighteen when you came into Skyrim?"

"Ah, well, I was returning to Skyrim, actually, but yes, I was eighteen when we met." She ran a gloved hand through her pale blonde hair, looking away for a moment.

Ralof shook his head. "I can't believe it's been that long."

She smiled gently. "Time does fly." Tilting her head to gaze at Ralof for a minute, she stood and sat down next to him, cautiously glancing at the fire.

They were silent for a moment, and she looked back at him. "So what's your family like?"

Ralof smiled crookedly. "Well, my sister's a bit harsh. Her husband is a quiet sort of fellow, but knows when to intervene with Gerdur. They have a son, Frodnar, who I am very fond of." He looked down at his craggy hands, callused where he used to grip his warhammer. "He used to send me letters during the war. Little rocks, feathers he had found, drawings, the like."

Acantha nodded. "Children can be incredible healers in the little things they do," she replied quietly.

There was a rustle, and Acantha was suddenly standing, a strange, curved dagger appearing in her hand. Ralof touched the war axe hanging at his belt.

"What is it?" he asked, hushed. Acantha didn't move from her position, her muscles only tensing as a twig cracked.

There was silence…and then…

"Well ain't this a surprise," the bandit sneered as he sauntered from the trees, the firelight illuminating his war paint and yellowed grin. Three more bandits followed behind him, carrying their weapons with menacing looks.

Acantha leapt forward and slammed the hilt of her dagger against the skull of one of the bandits. He stumbled away and she twisted the dagger to slide it across his throat. The blood sprayed across the snow, pink speckles appearing as it fell to earth.

The head bandit smiled as he watched and, with lightning reflexes, twisted it out of her hand. The other two bandits grabbed her arms and forced her to her knees as she squeaked in discomfort. The head bandit examined the curved dagger before tossing it away.

Turning back to her, he let his gaze slither down Acantha's body with a languid smile and she stiffened, arms twisted behind her back.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Gold, mainly," the bandit replied, licking his lips as his eyes trained on her chest. "But perhaps a few other things as well."

Ralof went to stand but found himself held back by two more bandits. He cursed his rusty senses for not detecting them.

Acantha was still, as though frozen, when the bandit approached her, and, with a dirty knuckle, brushed her cheek. "Frightened, my sweet?" She looked away from him, brows lowering. The two men behind her laughed scathingly.

Ralof jerked forward. "Get away from her," he growled. The man looked up at Ralof, a snaggle-toothed smile crossing his face.

"Isn't that touching? And who are you? Her lover?"

The Stormcloak veteran withdrew in overwhelmed anger, translated to silence.

The head bandit grasped Acantha's chin in one hand, lifting her head to look into her eyes. The other hand fumbled at the string on his pants. She began to writhe, fighting against the hands holding her.

"Keep her still, boys. Now, how about you show me what that pretty little mouth can do, hm? Lover-boy can watch." He smirked. "And then we can have your gold."

Acantha's lips started to move as her eyes slid to one side. The man frowned.

"What was that you said, sweet?"

A wolf launched from the bushes, over the head bandit, and toppling over one of the men holding Acantha. He stumbled away as the wolf latched onto his throat, growling furiously. The young woman drove her hand up into the other man's groin as she spun to stand. He opened his mouth in a soundless scream of pain and stumbled away, knees bent, clutching his testicles.

The head bandit quit fumbling with his pants and withdrew a chipped iron sword. "You've done it now," he growled. "I thought I would spare you, but – "

Acantha turned towards him and took a deep breath.

Any other words were cut off with a roaring "**FUS RO DAH**" that sent him through the air. The head bandit was thrown against a tree; with a sharp crack, he fell to the ground, his eyes glassy.

The wolf growled above the corpse with the torn out throat. The man, still cradling his crotch, hobbled away as quickly as he could.

The other bandits picked themselves up and scampered away with shouts of fear. The moment Ralof felt the hands lift away from his shoulders and arms, he quickly spun, throwing his axe at the back of one of the bandits.

The man fell as the iron buried itself between his shoulder blades with a thump and a soft crunch.

He looked back at Acantha, who looked pale and drawn. The wolf, with a bloody muzzle, nudged her hand, whining. She said something to him in her swishy language. He licked her hand, leaving a streak of blood, and bounded away into the night.

"Are you okay?" Ralof asked, approaching her. She reached out to steady herself against a tree trunk, her deep, cracked breaths foggy in the night air.

"I'll be alright in a minute," she gasped, her knees wobbling a bit.

"Here." Ralof threaded his arms underneath hers and gently pulled her to lean on him as he started to walk towards her tent. "Did they do something to you?"

She shook her head. "No, no. It's the thu'um – my Voice. Speaking it is like breathing fire, for my throat, and it feels like my lungs and my heart and my veins are burning…" Acantha sucked in the cold winter air, her breathing still a bit ragged. "It fades after a while, but I never quite get used to it. Like reopening a wound."

Ralof nodded. "I had always wondered…what it would be like, to have the Voice."

"It's not enjoyable," she muttered. "It's a burden."

He helped her to her tent, easing her down. "Couldn't you have taken the bandit easily?"

Acantha groaned as she laid down on the furs, though her breathing was becoming more even. "Maybe. But I didn't want to risk you getting hurt – it was easier to frighten the lot of them rather than to battle them all, and end up having wounds to tend to…following…"

Ralof looked down at her, stretched out on the furs with one arm flung over her head, eyes already closed. He hesitated before closing the tent's flaps to give her some privacy. The snow collected around the ankles of his boots as he trudged over to the dead bandit, wrenching his axe from the bastard's back.

Settling in beside the fire, axe at the ready, he stood guard until dawn.

Acantha gave him an unreadable look when she crawled out of her tent and saw him sitting there, iron axe in hand. She didn't stop to question him though, instead heading straight to her horse to pack him up.

The swaying of the horses as they travelled on to Riverwood lulled Ralof to a restless sleep. The huff of the horses, the rustle of the winter wind in the bare branches, Acantha's silence, all worked against him to send him drifting.

After what seemed like a few minutes, though, he opened his eyes to Acantha standing beside his horse, tugging on his coat. Her big green eyes were kind, and a little relieved.

"We're here," she said softly.

Ralof looked up at the Sleeping Giant Inn, the old mill still churning in the sluggish, small creek. With a feeling of relief, he let out a long sigh that fogged in front of his face, sliding off his horse.


	4. Chapter 4

The yeasty smell of dough wafted through the small wooden house. For a moment, Ralof recalled his childhood in this very same house, watching his mother knead the bread for dinner that night. Now Gerdur had taken her place, and Ralof could see the family likeness.

Acantha sat at the table, stroking the family dog, Stump. He looked up at her adoringly, and she murmured something to him, causing him to thump his tail against the floor.

"It's good to see you again, Ralof," Gerdur remarked, handing him a tin mug of water. "I must admit, though, you were not in such rough shape before."

"Aye, and then we had a war." A jab of pain needled his shoulder and he gritted his teeth.

"And it's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Gerdur directed towards Acantha. The Dragonborn looked up, startled.

"Oh, ah…it's a pleasure, but please, call me Acantha." She smiled shyly at Gerdur before turning her attention back to the dog. He sighed and laid his head on her knee as she scratched behind his ears.

The door opened and Hod, the blond beast of a man that Gerdur called her husband, entered, smoothing his mustache. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Ralof.

"Ralof, this is a surprise."

"No, Hod," Gerdur corrected, looking exasperated. "We've known about Ralof's arrival for three weeks now."

"Oh." He rubbed his head. "I guess I forgot." His gaze snagged on the other woman in the room. "A visitor! Ralof, did you bring her?"

"Yes."

Gerdur touched Hod's arm. "Hod, this is Acantha Clearpine." She dropped her voice, though everyone could still hear her. "The Dragonborn."

Hod gave Acantha a quick and silent examination before giving her a quick nod. "What brings you to Riverwood, Acantha?" He tilted his head. "And can I call you Annie?"

She smiled shyly. "If you so wish, sir. I'm in Riverwood on my way to Falkreath, where my home is."

Hod shook his head. "Then you'll have some time to wait. Snow's blocked the passes to the hold since before the New Life Festival."

Her shoulders sagged. "When do you think I may be able to return, then?"

"I would give it at least two weeks."

A blond child poked his head through the door. "Ma, can I have a septim or two for a sweetroll?"

"Go do some work for someone, Frodnar. I've heard Hilde needs some help sweeping her house."

Frodnar made a face. "I'm not going to do anything for that crazy old witch."

"And I'll not have my child begging for coins." Gerdur resumed kneading the dough. "Now where are your manners? Greet your uncle and his friend."

Frodnar's face lit up. "Uncle Ralof!" He scampered forward and flung his arms around the grinning Stormcloak veteran. The child finally pulled himself away from his uncle.

"Did you win the war?"

Ralof gave him a strained smile. "No, boy, but I survived it, and that's what matters."

Frodnar's mouth turned down. "Oh." He looked over Ralof's shoulder at the Dragonborn. "Uncle, who's that?"

"This is my friend Acantha. She came with me from Windhelm."

The Dragonborn smiled at the Nord boy. "Hello."

Frodnar ducked his head shyly, giving her a small smile before running over to his mother.

"Is dinner ready yet?"

Gerdur smiled, patting the top of her son's head with one flour-coated hand. "Not yet. Go out and play – give it a while."

The door was open and shut faster than anyone could register it.

Gerdur sighed. "That boy will be the death of me." She glanced at her brother. "Ralof, go fetch some cheese from the cellar, please."

Ralof stood, his shoulder throbbing achingly, and nodded. He glanced at Acantha once more as he walked to the cellar stairs, and, to his own surprise, caught her studying him. Her eyes slid away back to Stump.

He turned his head and walked down into the cellar.

* * *

_The air around them reeked of blood and sweat, made damp by the fog of the Reach that was beginning to roll in that morning. The Imperials had taken Fort Sungard in the night, but at a high cost to them._

_Ralof concentrated his focus on the lone figure in his arms, ignoring the sword wound in his shoulder. No one knew why the child had walked by the fort, or where he was even from. But here he was, struck by an arrow from an Imperial bow._

_The Stormcloak veteran looked frantically up from his hiding spot behind a group of rocks before looking down at the child again. He couldn't be more than ten, twelve maybe. And here he was, all the potential years of his life bleeding out onto Ralof's uniform._

_Ralof rocked back and forth, gritting his teeth as a sorrowful rage filled him, trying not to sob helplessly over the dying child. What had this war come to? His fellow soldier and friends were dead – Steom still lay in the grass, the flies buzzing around his shattered skull._

The worst part of war_, Ralof contemplated, _is the thoughts of the survivors_._

_The child stirred slightly, brown eyes wide as he stared at the Stormcloak holding him. Ralof couldn't help but observe that he had the same build and hair color as Frodnar, back in Riverwood. He shuddered._

_"Ah." A small sigh escaped the child's lips. His skin was pale against his crimson blood. "It's cold."_

_Ralof searched for his voice. "It'll be warmer where you're going," he choked out finally._

_"Where…where am I going?" the child breathed out. He shifted slowly. "Why do I hurt?"_

_The Nord man brushed the hair off of the child's forehead, forcing his focus from the dying boy's glassy stare._

_"You're going somewhere where no one hurts, where you'll live forever," he said softly. "All of your heroes will be there – Ysgramor, Hakon One-Eye…perhaps even Shor."_

_"I'm going to die."_

_Ralof looked down at the boy, startled. The child closed his eyelids before gazing at Ralof again, one hand reaching up to clutch the Stormcloak cuirass. "Thank you."_

_The hand didn't loosen when the boy died, staring up into Ralof's face. The Stormcloak's lips were bleeding from how hard he clamped __his teeth _ down on them, trying to muffle his weeping and cries of pain.

* * *

He opened his eyes slowly, his shoulder throbbing. A cool sensation was travelling across his forehead in slow, tender strokes. The sound of the wind in the branches filled his ears before it stopped.

"I've heard that sleeping on your back is a dangerous thing, especially when you've been in a war," a voice said soothingly.

It took Ralof's eyes to get adjusted before he saw the familiar face of his travelling companion.

"Acantha?" he mumbled through lips and a tongue dulled by sleep.

"I know a small spell for sleep," she continued, not acknowledging him. "It will make your dreams bearable."

"Weren't you in the other room?" he sighed. Her hand stopped stroking his forehead before starting again.

"I'm a light sleeper, and you were making noises in your sleep." She tilted her head. "I know how it is, to be plagued by dreams. Alduin…" Acantha suddenly bit her lip and looked down. "Never mind. This should help you to sleep. I know it always helps me."

She removed her hand as Ralof began to feel the pull of sleep on his consciousness. He blinked blearily, and felt the feather touch of Acantha's fingertips on the scar of his shoulder.

"Is this from the war?"

"Aye. In Fort Sungard. It was a…" Ralof paused to yawn. "Well. It wasn't a victory, clearly."

"Does this give you trouble from time to time?" she asked.

"It aches, always."

She placed her hand on it and Ralof groaned as a warm, pleasant sensation ran through his shoulder and down his arm. It made him only sleepier, and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"They didn't fix it properly," Acantha muttered, removing her hand from his shoulder. She looked at the drowsy Nord and smoothed his hair back.

"Get to sleep, Ralof. I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded and closed his eyes finally, falling into a blissfully dreamless slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

Acantha led her horse behind her, causing him to stamp in place with a nicker; mud was kicked up with his hooves and clung to his legs. Stump barked once and whined, leaning against Acantha with sad eyes.

Ralof ran his hand through his newly and clean-cut hair and rolled his shoulders, blinking in the sunlight as he leaned on the fence. The roads were muddy with the melted snows of First Seed, and butterflies were beginning to flit among the unfrozen creek that trickled by town and through the mill.

Gerdur walked out of her house with a cloth wrapped package. She handed it to Acantha, standing on the other side of the fence from the Stormcloak. "For your trip - some bread that I baked," she announced crisply. "May you have safe travels home."

Acantha smiled softly. "Thank you, Gerdur, for the bread and your hospitality over the last few weeks."

Gerdur gave her a sharp nod. "It wasn't a problem. You helped in the home – consider it payment in return."

With that, she turned away and walked back into the house. Frodnar looked at the Dragonborn shyly before scurrying away to follow his mother.

Acantha shifted her pack and gazed at Ralof expectantly. He cleared his throat, glancing down at the ground.

"Your family's good people," she said finally. He nodded.

"Aye, they take care of me."

Her horse nickered again and Acantha looked over her shoulder at him, murmuring something. She turned back to the Stormcloak veteran.

"You're a good man, too, Ralof," she remarked. "I haven't met someone like you in a while."

"I've never met anyone like you," he said, before fighting down the flush that threatened to show itself on his fair face.

Acantha's gaze shifted away from him once more. "Well, I suppose this is goodbye, then?" she said quietly, concentrating on a hawk that was flying overhead.

"I suppose – will you ever come to Riverwood again?"

She smiled wryly. "I doubt it. I doubt I'll ever leave my home once I get there, to be completely honest. The world doesn't need a Dragonborn anymore – my home does need me, though."

He nodded. "Well. It was good to see you again, Acantha Clearpine."

"And you. Perhaps you could visit sometime."

She latched one foot into the stirrup of the saddle and swung herself into the seat, holding the reins as she looked down at the other Nord. "Take care, Ralof. Try not to let the past hurt you so much." She winked at him, her eyes a sage-color in the sunlight as she slapped the reins.

Startled, he speechlessly watched her sunlit form trot off to the main road, the wind making the beads in her hair click.

As soon as she was out of sight, he sighed and turned back to where Gerdur was standing in the doorway. He gave her a small smile.

"So. What work do we have to do today?"

His sister raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms. "Little brother," she said sternly, "you're an idiot."

He looked at her in confusion. "What?"

Wordlessly, she disappeared inside the house and reemerged with his pack, thrusting it into his arms. Frodnar scurried to stand a bit behind her, watching his mother and uncle. "Say goodbye to Frodnar and follow her. This isn't your home anymore, and you know it as well as I."

He fumbled with the bag in his hands, staring at his sister. "But…I…"

Gerdur sighed and picked up the bag, gently placing the strap over his shoulder. "Little brother, your home hasn't been here since you went off to war. Even when it was, Talos knows you were only here to sleep." She tapped his chest. "Your heart belongs in the wild. And, with a certain Dragonborn we all know."

Ralof stared down at his feet before looking back up at his sister. "Will you be alright here?"

Gerdur smiled gently. "I've been in Riverwood since I was born; I've raised a family and kept a house here. And with a little one on the way," she added, touching her abdomen with her fingertips, "it's best to stay here."

Ralof's eyes widened. "You're pregnant?"

"Aye," she replied happily. "Have been for a few months, now."

"Then shouldn't I stay? You need someone to take care of you," her brother mumbled, clearly surprised.

"Don't be stupid – that's why I have a husband, and a son to do chores." Frodnar scowled as she patted him on the head. "We'll do just fine." She shoved him playfully, and motioned with her head to the main road. "See you soon, Ralof."

He smiled, shoulders lowering. "Thank you, Gerdur." He kissed her on the cheek and ruffled Frodnar's hair. "I'll be sure to write." He bent to look at Gerdur's stomach, placing one hand on it. "I hope to see you soon, little one." He straightened and winked at his nephew.

Frodnar smiled widely. "Bye, Uncle Ralof!"

The Stormcloak veteran hurried to where his horse was stabled and mounted quickly, slapping the reins to get her moving. He flung up mud on Hilde and Sven's house as he passed; he didn't bother to even look up.

Acantha trotted up the hill, not in any hurry at all, but reined in her horse when she heard the sucking sound of hooves in the mud behind her. Her lips parted at the sight of the man galloping to catch up to her.

"Ralof!" she greeted as he pulled in his reins to stop beside her. "Did I forget something?"

"No, no, not at all." He suddenly hesitated. "Forgive me for asking this, but you wouldn't mind if I came with you, would you?"

Acantha blinked, a cool breeze coming by to toy with the pale strands of her hair. "What caused this?"

Ralof tightened his grip on the reins in his hands, looking off the path to the view below. "I just…Riverwood isn't really my home anymore."

"Where is your home, then?"

"I don't know. But what I do know is that I need to move on – and though you may not realize it, I for one know you can never stay at home for too long, though you say you'll be there forever."

Acantha raised her eyebrows coolly. "What made you an expert on my behavior?"

He shook his head. "I'm not; you're still as unpredictable as ever. But, I do see the same kind of fire in you that I see in all adventures and so-called restless souls. Home-life is not for you."

The expression on her face didn't change. "Mm." She flicked a bit of stray hair out of her face. "If you knew more about me, you would never say that."

"Well. All the same, I'm asking you. Please." He looked at her steadily. "As a friend. If you want me to leave the instant we get there, fine. As long as I'm not stuck here."

She remained silent for a moment before giving him a small nod, turning her horse to continue down the path. Ralof brightened and slapped the reins, urging his horse to follow, the slow _thlock-thlock-thlock_ of the hooves echoing down the path.

* * *

The wilderness flourished in Falkreath's warm southern air; Ralof idly watched blue butterflies flutter by, tracked a fox as it rushed through the underbrush, and even spied the gentle gaze of a doe between the trunks of the trees.

None of the animals seemed skittish around the two Nords; instead, they stopped to watch them meander by on the road. Acantha would sing songs that Ralof could never make out – it sounded like the same swishy language she spoke, with a bit of babble thrown in. The world around them, it seemed, would respond to each syllable, whether by some unknown breeze in the trees, or the twittering of birds changing its tune.

Ralof mused on Acantha's existence. She was not as public as the previous legends: The Eternal Champion, the Agent, the Hero of Kvatch, and so on… Whereas these heroes had been exonerated, posing for statues and being the guests of honor at festivals in the capitol, the Dragonborn had only killed the World-Eater, and then faded away from the public eye as quickly as she had appeared.

It would make sense that no one knew much about her. And she was so…odd. The language she spoke, the one Ralof had never heard of, was unsettling. If he had been walking in the dark and someone had started speaking that way, he'd stab first and ask questions later.

Had she ever been close to anyone? She never talked about her family, and she had vehemently denied having a husband. He wondered, for a quick moment, if she had ever had a lover, but his cheeks quickly flamed and he ducked his head, hoping the Dragonborn wouldn't turn around in her saddle to ask him a question. But, then again, the chances of that were impossibly slim. She hadn't talked to him in a day and a half.

It was unsurprising that she lived in Falkreath Hold. No one came here – it wasn't even a major area of Skyrim. All it could boast was the Pine Forest and the largest graveyard in the country. What kind of house did she have? Probably small, and with a garden. He could see her kneeling in the dirt, watering and digging as the glass beads in her hair clicked and shone in the sunlight.

"Ralof?"

He looked up at Acantha, startled. "Ah…yes?"

She had drawn her horse to a stop to one side of the road, gazing at Ralof with her eyebrows pulled together. Her face was a bit flushed, and she tugged on an earlobe anxiously. "I'm afraid that you do need to know something before we arrive at the house. I've been meaning to mention it."

She paused as though waiting for an answer. Ralof only blinked.

"Well," she continued, "my home is currently occupied, actually, by my steward, Rayya. And, ah, my daughter."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "You have a daughter."

"Yes. Her name's Skadi; she's three, now."

"Oh."

Acantha spurred on her horse once more in a slow trot; Ralof quickly followed, a little stunned from her confession.

"And…her father?"

Acantha's voice was flat. "Dead."

"Oh… Were you married then?"

She pulled her horse to a stop and turned in her saddle to glower at him. "Must you ask so many questions? If you must know, no, we weren't, but we were planning on it. Skyrim's fucking war got to him before we could exchange vows, and after his funeral, I found out I was pregnant." She turned away, her shoulders tight. "Now, I'd be much obliged if you wouldn't speak of it from now on."

There was another long stretch of silence as Ralof ducked his head, embarrassed. "My apologies, Acantha," he said finally. "I shouldn't have pried."

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. "It's a bit of a sensitive subject," she admitted in a hesitating, halting sentence. "It's been four years and yet I still struggle with it."

Ralof nodded. "It takes more than time to overcome that kind of grief."

Acantha's head lifted and she looked around. "Well, we're close to my home," she said, her voice switching to a tone of false cheer. "See? Right…there."

Ralof's mouth dropped open as he stared at the house towering over the trees. It was a manor house, worthy of the aristocracy, not the earthy woman in front of him. He spotted a cow, a chicken, and even a stable for the horses. Shor's bones!

A tiny human stumbled around the area for the chickens, laughter floating down to where the travelers stood on the path.

They trotted up to house and stabled the horses. Acantha brushed off her tunic and disentangled some of the beads in her hair before handing her reins to a Redguard woman standing nearby. Ralof stood behind her, hand unconsciously settled on the axe at his hip.

The Redguard woman dipped her head towards the Dragonborn. "Lady Acantha, welcome back."

Acantha smiled warmly. "Thank you, Rayya. Now," she said with a smile, "where's the little rascal?"

"Mama!"

The tiny human that Ralof had seen from the path tottered towards the stable, giggling. Acantha knelt down and swept up the little girl, showering her face with kisses. The child continued to giggle, wriggling away from her mother.

The Dragonborn picked up the toddler and turned to the Stormcloak veteran. "Ralof, this is Skadi. Say hello, Skadi."

The child looked at Ralof with clear, bright blue eyes, her round head crowned with wispy, almost white hair, and raised a chubby fist to her mouth, burying her face in her mother's shoulder.

"Oh, little luna moth, don't be shy," Acantha goaded, planting a kiss on the top of Skadi's head. Finally, the child looked up at Ralof and smiled.

"Hello," she said, her voice clear. "My name is Skadi. What's yours?"

Ralof blinked. "I'm – Ralof. You're very well spoken for someone your age."

"Thank you."

Acantha suddenly swung the girl around and started heading towards the house. "Time for presents, little girl."

Skadi squealed in delight. "Presents!"

Rayya turned a clam gaze over to Ralof. He found himself drawn in by her war paint that drew out the amber in her eyes, under her Alik'r hood.

"I apologize, sir, the house would have been readied if Lady Acantha had informed me there would be a guest. We do have a bed available for you, though."

"Ah, don't worry too much about me," Ralof replied, uncomfortable. "I should be gone soon enough."

"Very well, sir–"

"Please don't call me sir. Call me Ralof."

"Well, then, Ralof – I hope your stay with us will be enjoyable." She cocked her head towards the house. "Shall I show you the house?"

"Ah, yes, please."

They walked towards the manor and Rayya pushed open the door with a creak, disappearing inside. Ralof took a breath and stepped through the doorway.


End file.
